Charitable Thievery
by TheGoodLiving
Summary: A thief with morals? To a young scholar it'd come off as noble. Fast forward a few decades and the same scholar would call it cliche. Though whether in this time period or the next my colleagues would chalk it up to the same title; prissy. Oneshot OC Enjoy!


You'd think countless encounters with locked things and lockpicks would give you enough familiarity to stop your palms from sweating. The others call it the mark of an amateur, to feel those beads sprouting out your flesh. But then again, that should mean they'd felt it too right?

Everyone's an amateur at some point. We all start from somewhere. The navel should be testament enough to that fact. We don't come into the world fully capable and established beings. So I don't really understand why so many like to laugh and jeer and mock and not betray a single tell that we're looking at a mirror image. After all we can only get a kick, whether a good one or a bad one, out of things that are already inside of us. Principle of Reflection if you will. Mirror Image, Mirror World, Mirror Existence.. Whatever you'd like to call it.

Delvin likes to call it hodgepodge.

He laughs and says I'm trying to get out of the hot seat for still getting sweaty palms after how many years in the business. Though to be frank I don't think it has to do with inexperience at all, seeing that I'm _not_ inexperienced.. At all. But maybe my situation is a bit different than the others. After all I don't necessarily _enjoy_ picking locks, trespassing beyond people's privacy.

Perhaps that may explain the small cut I slide onto nightstands or tables or slip into knapsacks and pockets in the evening when i turn over the profits to Tonelia. Now if anybody in the guild had spotted me doing THAT, I'd surely be the focus of a good laugh indeed.

A thief with Morals came across more as a pansy than a Noble Novelty amongst her own… 'kind' (for lack of a better word) although I wouldn't particular call them my 'kind'. After all stealing for necessity tends to veer off toward broader grounds if you do it long enough to start noticing that the shiny silver plate that plump loaf of bread is sitting on could fetch you far more than one night's modest meal if you found the right people to haggle with.

Then stolen crumbs turn into stolen meals, in the sense that the coin used isn't exactly 'honest pay'. In the legal sense anyway. Over time there's a buffer in your belly that sooths the angry gnash of desperate starvation to a friendlier, mild, hunger and it allows you enough focus to realize that hey, there are forks and knives too.. The goblets actually _aren't_ bronze and the candlesticks, all this time, were made of gold.

Survival turns to greed then, there's a whole plethora for your taking. The wealthy folk hardly noticed a couple dishwares going amiss surely they shouldn't pick up on a lone gem disappearing from the strongbox. A mental notion that nearly chills you considering you've never ventured past the kitchen. The carnal hunger in your stomach is replaced then with a different kind of demand and all of a sudden you forgot how much delight you once got out of a simple loaf of bread.

This is where I draw my line between I and my, Associates.

My hunger never changed. She returns faithfully every afternoon when the lunch hour comes approaching and I make a stop at the Bee and Barb for a helping of vegetable stew and a side of curry. Sometimes one of my colleagues joins me, only when I take my seat at the bar and thank Keerava for the hot plate I pay my fee. When I scan the place I'm silently marveling at how well she's managing despite the Guild's commands. When I send a sidelong nod in Talen Jei's direction it's not sharpened by a stone stare. And when the meal is done and we make to leave, I linger behind and pop the few coins needed for the plate next to mine, equally as empty, onto the counter.

She stiffens every time; the eye locks in on minute changes when you've trained it long enough. And though the fear and slight resentment never allows her to produce anything more than a conflicted expression I silence her with a grin and wave it off before slinking away as silently as I came to go find another strongbox to come face to face with, and pull out a set of picks with already moistened fingers.

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I been out the writing game for a loooong while, trying to get some oil running on this baby. This was just a short, admittedly pointless oneshot to test the waters, feel free to leave some reviews if you'd like! They'd be greatly appreciated. If not, thanks so much for stopping by and I hope you took away something from this short little work, have a Great Day!


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